


Coming Home

by modd



Category: Night In The Woods (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, One Off, directionless unless people want it to go somewhere/do someth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 20:27:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11448459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modd/pseuds/modd
Summary: Where is home when home is cultist-clad?  Where your equally shitty friends are, of course.





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completely directionless one off and I am dying for writing prompts of how to push this story in any direction / any suggestions for new prompts. My only rule is I will not ship Mae w Gregg or Angus unless it's like...unrequited, cus I am not fucking w my beautiful gay boys.

Gregg worries at the back of his mind that Angus minds their living room slowly turning into the communal hangout.  It is partly an aspect of convenience, sure, but it was also the last location Gregg saw Casey.  

 

It churns his stomach to think that it could’ve been that night that Casey- 

 

It’s not worth thinking about.

 

The reality of the situation is that Angus loves it.  He loves it because after the influx of people, every night still holds the promise of unwinding with his favourite Bug.  So long as he isn’t the one who has to wake up Bea as she loses the battle with exhaustion, he doesn’t mind.  

 

It’s a Saturday night, the winter crispness has doused a sleepy Possum Springs with snow.  Bea has even received the OK to close the Ol’ Pickaxe tomorrow, as “No one is going to go outside in this shit”.  Germ and Mae are playing something on Gregg’s outdated console.  A little bandicoot is shooting around the screen.  Angus is bustling away in the kitchen with Gregg chatting amicably - not concerned as to whether his boyfriend is listening or not.  Bea sits on the couch, slowly slouching more and more.  Alright, she’s lying on the couch.  She’s watching Mae and Gregg play.

 

Mae doesn’t know that what she is smelling from the kitchen is mulled wine, but she does know that  _ something  _ smells  _ good.   _

 

“Who wants a glass?”  Angus calls out.  Beatrice blinks her eyes open.  Fuck yes.

 

-

 

After half a glass of  _ very  _ closely monitored mulled wine, Mae decides she likes it.  The bitterness of normal alcohol is cut with the cinnamon coils.  Everyone sits in a circle.  Angus and Bea are the only ones with glasses, the rest use mugs.  Glasses are for sophisticated people, Mae tells them, and she would be horrified to have to join them.  

 

The night marches on, and the supply of mulled wine declines.  Everyone glows from a small buzz.  Germ is shit-faced and passes out on with his head on Mae’s lap.  Beatrice pulls a blanket over his small frame.  “This is boring,” Mae says.  “Let’s have some tunes!”

“Tunes!” Gregg shouts.

“Tunes!” Mae shouts back.

“Tunes!”

“Tunes!”

 

Angus and Bea anxiously look at Germ, but he does not move a muscle.  The boy is out cold.  

 

“Fuck it,” Bea says.  “It’s not like I ever have a day off.”

The alligator uncurls herself and plugs her phone into the speakers.  On her way back, she pours herself and Mae another glass (and mug) of mulled wine.  Mae looks at Bea with surprise.  “Don’t worry,” Bea murmurs, handing Mae the glass.  “I’ll look after you.”

 

Mae does her best to dance while not rocking the unconscious Germ.  She wiggles her waist from side to side, bopping her head to the beat.  Surreptitiously looking at Bea to make sure the top up of alcohol wasn’t a mistake, Mae takes a generous gulp.  Gregg plucks Angus from the floor and they start dancing together, Mae and Bea clapping along.  Gregg bows graciously, and Angus humbly half bobs his waist.  

 

Germ murmurs something, and rolls over.  Bea steps outside for a smoke.

 

Another half hour passes, and Mae knows she’s getting sloppy.  Germ has been moved onto the couch, tucked firmly into quilts to stop him from being able to roll down and concuss himself.  

 

“Hey Mmmae,” Gregg slurs, settling down next to his best friend.  “Nnnever have I everr….  Fallen in love with Angus!”  He immediately takes a hearty swig and laughs, falling from Mae’s side into his boyfriend’s.  “Do you really want to do this?” Bea asks, a glint in her eye that has rarely been seen in the last year.  Mae notices it, and feels a surge of adrenaline.  Bea has always been a closed book - maybe it’s a simple drinking game that will coax it out of her.

 

“Hell yeah, Dude,” Gregg giggles.  He’s a happy drunk.  Angus has learned through his boyfriend that alcohol doesn’t immediately mean something awful around the corner.  

 

“Alright,” Angus says, straightening his skew bow tie and placing a hand over his boyfriend’s giggling waist. 

 

“Never have I ever… Lived with my parents past 20.”  Angus grins as the group side-eyes him and takes their fill.   

 

“Alright, Big Guy.  No more mister nice Borowski.”  Mae takes a vicious swig of wine for effect, but the authenticity of it is lost as she dribbles half the wine down her chin.  Bea hides a smirk behind her delicate hand.  

 

“Nnnever…. Have I never,” Mae begins, losing her drive as she tries to think of something.  “Do you need help?” Bea asks quietly.  Mae nods and ducks towards her friends mouth.   Angus and Gregg lean in, but one vicious look from Bea sends them reeling back.   

 

“Alright, Lovebugs” Mae begins, “Never have I ever been in a relationship”.  Gregg and Angus are too happy to take their sip, but Gregg catches Mae out.  “What about Cole-io?”  Gregg teases.

 

“What about him?  That doesn’t count!  It was a date!  We were little!”

“Little people, little relationship.  Still a relationship.”

 

Bea interjects that Gregg has a point.  Offended, Mae asks whose side she’s on.  

 

“Alcohol’s,” Bea replies simply.  

 

Mae squints at Bea.  “If I didn’t know any better,” she began, a growl rising in her throat, “I’d say you were almost  _ trying  _ to get me drunk!”

 

“Trying to get you to loosen up.  Trying to get me to loosen up.”  Bea answers.  Gregg nods enthusiastically at the notion, his head blurring in Mae’s deteriorating vision.  

 

“I thought you’re whole thing was that I was  _ too  _ loose - Gregg, shut up, I heard it as soon as I said it.”

 

Bea looks at Mae, her eyes half-lidded.  It is a mix of exhaustion and wine.  “It’s different.  I think we’ve all earned a fucking drink after what’s happened.”

 

An uneasy silence comes across the group.  The events immediately following the discovery of the cult are off-topic, and Bea’s comment treads dangerously close to the raw, ugly unknown.  

 

Bea notices the shift, but she doesn’t cower away from her own statement.  She is starting to hate not looking at trauma head on.  If anyone’s fucking learned that’s how it festers, it’s her.  

 

“I’m going out to have a smoke.”  

 

Bea turns and leaves.  Mae gets up, sways, and follows her.

 

-

 

The roof of the complex offers nothing to buffer the girls from Winter’s bite.  Bea acts unaffected, lighting and blowing her cigarette away from the direction of the wind.  Mae chatters her teeth and shivers, her small body shaking violently.  

 

“C-c-c-an I h-h-have a p..puff?” Mae shivers.

 

“No.” Bea says.  “This stuff’ll kill you.”

 

“But you do it!” 

 

“Yep.”

 

“Don’t you care?”

 

Bea answers her friend by inhaling deeply, the ash on the end of her smoke growing bright orange.  Mae’s ears flop down in dejectedness.  

 

“C’Mon, Maeday.  Let’s go inside”

 

Bea takes another deep pull of her smoke before flicking the butt and stamping on it with her boot.  As she and Mae walk down the stairwell, Mae’s mood picks up.  It doesn’t take much for her to bounce from mood to mood.  Quietly, Bea has googled bipolar, borderline personality and dissociation.  Some pieces of Mae’s puzzle have begun to slot into place.  Mae bounces down each step, only staggering once.  Bea isn’t immune to Mae’s joy.  In fact, frustratingly, Bea holds onto it with desperation.  

 

Inside, pandemonium strikes.

 

The first thing that hits the two girls is the reek of vomit.  The second thing is the chorus of voices from the bathroom.  An anxious Angus tells Germ that he will be alright, just let it all out, while Gregg chants at Germ to go big or go home.  Germ himself’s voice is mostly groaning, belching and retching.  

 

“Oh, God.”  Bea says.  “Oh, no,” says Mae.

 

“What do you mean?  Mae?  Oh no-”

  
  


Bea has just enough time to realise what’s happening before Mae’s projectile vomit sprays towards the floor.  Apparently the sound of retching sets her off.  

 

“It’s an anxiety thing,” she says, between puffs of breath, “After the-” and she pukes again.

 

“After the Cole stuff.”

 

“Jesus, Maeday.”

-

  
  



End file.
